The Love He Deserves
by moondustbeam
Summary: Japan notices that England is abusive towards America, and will stop at nothing to make sure America's adorable love is given to someone who deserves it. Ameripan, some UKUS. Japan's perspective. Rated M for abuse and strong language. IN PROGRESS.
1. Chapter 1

**Japan's perspective? That's something you don't see every day. Since Japan is probably one of the more stoic characters in Hetalia, you can never really tell how he feels. I would like to imagine that he has emotions, but he doesn't show them. Hence writing from his perspective on this one, so you know how he feels. **

"I'm really not sure what to do. America has the sex appeal of a rock."

I finished neatly stacking my papers into my folder when I heard England. He had been rambling on about his relationship with America, and I tried my hardest not to listen. I would normally listen in on matters involving relationships, but I decided it was best not to when it came to America and England. Why?

I'm jealous.

I'm jealous that England gets America. From the way he constantly carries on about how much he dislikes him, it sounds like England doesn't even deserve him. And it breaks my heart a little bit every time I hear him speak about America like that. Sure, America can be annoying. I've said it to England myself, whenever he was giving me English lessons. But you can think someone is irritating and still love them, right?

Wrong. Because England was still ranting about America.

"He doesn't really understand that I don't want to have a 'mushy' sort of relationship. I really just want someone to fuck, quite honestly." England continued to nonchalantly shift through the documents scattered about on his desk, only pausing to occasionally sip from a teacup. France was sitting next to him and listening, a look of confusion plastered on his face. France felt the same way about the situation. He had spent quite a lot of time with America over the years, and knew he was a very sweet person when you got past the 'conceited and loud' mask that he wore. America had constantly asked me questions about his relationship with England since it started. He would walk up to me, wringing his hands and whipping out flower catalogues, asking me which ones I think England would like. He would tell me how he was leaving early to make England a surprise dinner, or show me all the presents he was ordering online for him. America liked giving, and he liked making others happy. Oh, how I wish I were England. I'm usually a quiet guy, but I like sappy relationships. If I were England, I'd be grateful for all the things America tried his hardest to do for me.

But all the real England did was complain.

"I don't think I can keep it up much longer. The whole facade of pretending to care about the boy. He thinks it's a 'real relationship'. Ha."

England, it's the first relationship he's had! Body-wise, he's only nineteen years old. Of course he's going to care about love and relationships. I really wanted to tell England all of this, but I am not known for speaking up in situations where it is needed. I sighed and stood up, collecting my folders. A few of us had decided to stay behind to sort through paperwork, but I knew it would only result in England berating the boyfriend he didn't deserve for the thousandth time.

Speaking of the boyfriend England did not deserve, the door opened quietly and America inched his way into the room. Ah, America. Sky blue eyes, paired with hair that was not quite blonde or brown, but rather a golden color that was somewhere in the middle. A tall, muscular figure, and a smile so white yet innocent. Oh, how I wish we had people who looked like him in my country. America honestly looked like he was a model of some sort, but I'm sure that he never received that compliment from England. My citizens all looked a lot like myself: black hair, dark brown eyes, and fairly short. Unless, of course, they decided to dye their hair or get colored contacts. It's fairly popular with young people in my country nowadays. For some reason, no one wants to look Japanese anymore. They all prefer the "Western look". It's fine, I suppose, because I love anything new.

America's gaze shifted around the room. When he laid eyes on me, his face lit up, and he offered a little wave. I really wished he would do more than that, but for now I would have to settle on being his best friend. We did watch horror movies together, and he held onto me whenever he was scared. America is the only person who can touch me. I'm not into touching or hugging, but when it's with him...well, it feels different. England abruptly turned around from his chair, and gave an irritated sigh when he realized who had entered the room.

"Oh, it's you."

I looked at America's face. He tried his hardest to hide it, but I could tell that it really hurt him when whenever England dismissed him like that. America strolled over to England's seat, standing above him somewhat awkwardly. I figured that he probably couldn't read the atmosphere, as he was notorious for not being able to do so, and couldn't grasp the fact that England wanted nothing to do with him at the moment. Unless the were having sex, England could care less about America or his feelings. Which was quite ironic to me, because England had once raised America, and was a very good caretaker who cared immensely for him. Perhaps a sexual relationship made him uncomfortable since America was his former brother? The most likely possibility was that England was a man who cared only for sex, and America was a romancer.

America was indeed a romancer, as he bent down and placed his hands on England's shoulders. He leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, but England scowled and made a show of wiping it away. America didn't seem to take notice, and wrapped his arms around England's neck.

"I parked the car around back. Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to dinner, okay?" America grinned and released his grip on his irate boyfriend.

France suddenly spoke up. "I thought you had a motorcycle, America. You love it; you take it everywhere. Are you driving England's Rolls Royce?" France shot a glance at me and gave a little nod, as if he were asking the question to show me something.

America's cheeks flushed a bit, and he looked down at his feet. "I, uh...sold it. I bought a car. England said it was stupid…"

I didn't mean to, but I audibly gasped. America loved his motorcycle almost as much as he loved fast food. I was amazed whenever America had managed to quit eating hamburgers because England asked him to, but he sold his motorcycle, too? I always liked America's motorcycle. Not for someone such as me to ride on, of course, because I hated crazy driving. I can't believe he had sold it, though. This man was giving up everything for someone who did not care very much for him at all.

America noted my reaction, and quickly added, "It's alright! I wanted to get rid of it. A car is a lot better, honestly. It was a good decision."

I knew this was a lie. I looked over at France, who was already glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. He shook his head and smiled sadly at America. "Well, as long as you are enjoying it."

England huffed and stood up. Collecting his papers, he turned around and motioned for America to follow him. America's eyes lit up, and he started to follow after him. He turned around and flashed us his beautiful smile.

"Goodbye, Japan! Goodbye, France!"

England did not like this one bit. "America, come on." He stared at the boy icily, glaring daggers into the back of his head. When America faced him, he smiled sheepishly with embarrassment. America immediately dashed forward to open the door for England to make up for his mistake of telling his friends goodbye.

After they had left, France let out a breath he had been holding back. He turned to face me, wide-eyed and with a nervous smirk. I knew we were thinking the same thing.

America doesn't deserve this.

**Sorry I made England a dick. He is kind of a dick. Historically and Hetalia-wise. USUK (and UKUS) is my OTP, however, so don't hate me! I really like them together, I promise. I have USUK fanfics if you care enough to look. But my secret passion is Ameripan. I don't think the pair gets enough love for all of their "canon" moments. They spend a lot of time with each other, and have some very cute moments together. I'm surprised it's not a popular ship. And this fic is actually by me this time! I usually do requests, but this one is entirely my own idea. So if you hate it, it's on me. Ha. Review if you wanna. The chapters will be much longer later on, but I like to tease people in the beginning to get them interested. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Why Dresden, you may find yourself asking soon? I am moving there! This chapter is longer, ladies and gents. ;)**

Later that evening, I was walking casually down the streets of Dresden, Germany, where the conference was being held. I like Germany quite a bit. The personification of the country and the actual landmass itself. Dresden is a part of what was formerly known as Prussia, however, and was horribly bombed in World War 2 by England and America.

I shuddered and wrapped my scarf tighter around my neck. I hated thinking about World War 2. I did horrible things to America...and he did horrible things to me. We have since moved past it, but...I can't help but think about what happened. I remember the papers that America dropped from the sky, urging my citizens to evacuate immediately. But the Japanese people do not back down, and we refused to leave. That resulted in some very catastrophic events that I still try my hardest not to think about. Especially considering my relationship with America now. We are best friends, and we don't really bring up the past anymore. I see him in an entirely different light now. Our older citizens would probably disagree, but they have their reasons.

I admired the architecture throughout the city. They did a very good job of rebuilding it. I wondered how America would do in East Germany, considering all the political conflicts he seems to have. I don't think anyone keeps in mind that he is still a teenage boy, and already a well-known country. In a negative light, of course. I feel like people who see America can only see the bad things, and try to block out the good. I know that he tries his hardest to be a good person and save everyone, but everyone has their flaws. It seems as if all the other countries try to pin every single problem on him, and that's a lot of weight for a teenager. He's young and new, and I don't think he's going to get everything right just yet. People sure do expect him to, though, and hate him when he tries his hardest and fails to fix every single problem in the world.

I sighed and shook my head, continuing down the road and avoiding eye contact. I really stuck out here. As I have stated before, I look very different from these Caucasians. A short, Asian man was not going to blend in when he is in Germany. Germany has a few Asians here and there, but not very many. So I kept my head down when other people walked past me. A very bad habit I have, I know. I love learning about new things and new people, but my stoic demeanor ends up preventing me from having conversations with strangers. I can sometimes talk to the little children in Japan, but I much prefer to observe. After all, I was isolated for a very long time. I never really liked people visiting my country and forcing me to talk to them, though I will speak if it's necessary. I much prefer cute animals over people. But America can talk to whomever he pleases, it seems. He'll walk up to someone in a supermarket and speak with them. I admire that quality about him.

There were various gyms throughout Germany, I noticed, as I stopped to stand in front of one. I smiled to myself. Germany loved to work out, and his body really showed it. I did not know how many gyms would be here in Dresden. We do not have very many of them in Japan, since obesity isn't an epidemic in my country.

As I walked past, my curiosity got the best of me. I decided to peer in and see what this gym was all about. I did not really note the name of the gym, as I could only make out the word "Fiti". The rest was very...how should I put it...German. As I stepped inside just to glance around and see what the gyms were like, I noticed the amount of people. There were women in colorful tank tops running on treadmills, and men using some sort of device to work out their arm muscles. I have never been one for working out. Or eating healthy, for that matter. It's honestly amazing to me that I am skinny. I didn't know the names or the purposes of the machinery that was scattered throughout the room, but Germany definitely would. He tried to put me on a diet once. Needless to say, it did not work out. I cannot give up my salted salmon.

"Try harder, you stupid twat!"

I could have sworn I heard England's voice from the corner of the room. I immediately shot my gaze in the direction I heard his voice. Sure enough, there was England, still wearing his clothes from the meeting. He was standing next to a...what was the name of it? I believe the Western people call them "treadmills". England was yelling at someone running on the treadmill...wait a minute. I stepped closer to the corner of the room, hoping to get a better look. I really hoped it wasn't who I thought it was. I took note of the glasses that were held tightly in the hand of the young man running on the treadmill, his blonde hair moving slightly with all the running he was doing. He was quite tall, and obviously muscular underneath the gray shirt he was wearing, now stained with sweat.

Sure enough, England was yelling at America. No, he was not yelling. England was screaming at him, telling him to run faster. All of the people in the gym, presumably Germans, were shooting England glances, and one man near me muttered something in German about English people. I knew that German people could be quite loud when they wanted to be, but English people were louder.

"I told you we aren't getting dinner. We're coming here every day this week. I am not sleeping with you unless you actually look good."

I couldn't properly hear America, but he muttered something along the lines of, "I thought my body looked fine."

England scoffed. "Well, you're fat as fuck. So keep running. We're not eating dinner until I think you deserve it."

I could feel my face getting heated. I did not show emotion that often, but I still felt myself getting angry inside. America was one of the most fit people that I knew. The very few times I have seen his body, I couldn't look away. I'm usually not one for nudity or showing too much skin, either, but America's body...his body was beautiful. And England wasn't going out on a date with him because he wanted America to exercise. To make sure that his body looked good...for sex. That's all America was to England. A sex toy. A sex toy that he lied to in order to make sure he stayed in top physical shape. He degraded America and shattered his ego just so he could make sure he could get off to him properly.

I felt my hand clench into a fist. It wasn't like I would actually confront England...because I could never confront anyone. I wanted to say something. I wanted to make America feel better when I saw him panting heavily, obviously at his physical limit from running too long. I wanted the fist I currently had to make contact with England's face. England was my friend, and he liked me, but from the way he had been treating America...I didn't like him very much. So what did I do?

I left. I left the gym like the coward that I am. I have been alive for many years, fought many wars, and seen heartbreak after heartbreak. But I could not do anything as I watched a heartless man scream at the boy I had fallen in love with.

* * *

><p>I really hope people do not judge me for this. I want people to like me, I really do. But I had to know exactly what was going on with England and America. Perhaps the treadmill was actually just a kinky Westerner thing? I am Japan, so I know about kinks, and I know people have the strangest ones. My biggest fear was that this was not the case, and my original assumption was the true one. That England, as he said, really did only use America for sex. I needed to know this for sure.<p>

So I followed them to their hotel.

I carefully hid behind a tree, watching the door of the gym for England and America. A few Germans would pass by and notice me stealthy perched on the ground with my head peering out from behind the tree, and would whisper about throwing stars and ninjas. As soon as they came out of the gym, America breathing heavily and England yelling as loud as ever, I swooped in. Meaning I waited until they walked down the street, then stood up and strolled at a casual pace behind them. I made sure to use my scarf to cover up my face, and tilted my hat downwards on my head. I dressed differently when I was out on the streets versus how I dressed when I got home, and America knew this from when we used to room together. I really hoped he didn't catch on that it was me trailing behind them.

When they reached the hotel, I tried my best to conceal myself. The potted plant in the lobby was the perfect camouflage. I was staying at a hotel across the street, along with Spain, France, and a few others. Our hotels never housed everyone together due to certain countries hating each other. England and America were almost always together, alone. I followed the two through the lobby, still carrying the plant of course.

"England, can we take the elevator? I'm kinda tired." America gestured down at his shirt that I noticed was still stained with sweat.

England scowled at him. "Are you so fat that you can't even walk up one flight of stairs? We're on the first floor, you fucking idiot."

I smiled upon discovering what floor they were on, but quickly frowned upon realizing what England had said to America. It hurt me to hear him being so mean to him.

"Uh, you're right. I need the exercise."

America, you don't need it! I desperately wanted to let him know this. I wanted him to know what I thought of him, not what England thought of him. Damn this Japanese disposition.

All of the sudden, I felt a vibration in my pocket. The Japanese version of the Pokemon ringtone has started playing quite loudly. I cursed myself for having such a trademark ringtone, and quickly dug in my pocket for my phone. I wish I had silenced it.

"England, do you hear that? It sounds like...Japan's ringtone. I think it's coming from that plant."

I silenced my phone and peered through the leaves of the plant. England was pulling America up the stairs, telling him not to pay attention to it and follow him. For once, I was grateful for England being so rude.

I abandoned my plant and hurried over to the elevator. As soon as I got in, I hit the button for the first floor as hard as I could. I wanted to get there before they did. The doors opened, and I bolted out and hid behind the decorative table that was in the middle of the elevator lobby. I needed to make sure they couldn't see me at all costs, because it would be quite awkward if they suddenly saw me following them. I'm sure I could think of a good excuse when under pressure, and they both liked me. But getting caught was still not what I wanted. I wanted them to act natural so I could see what was really going on.

"...could see that! I'm quite ashamed to say that I'm with you!" I could hear England making his way down the hall. I pondered what he meant by 'ashamed to say that I'm with you'. Surely he couldn't mean he didn't want people to know he was with America? It's not like most of our everyday citizens know who we are, since we tend to keep the fact that we are the personification of a country under wraps. Only our bosses and select friends know. I think France is one of the few who does not care if people know he is actually France. France does not really care about how people see him in a lot of ways. But everyday people would just see America as an attractive young man. So why is England ashamed of him?

England stopped at a door about ten feet away from me. I held my breath, hoping that he didn't turn around. America stood by him, wringing his hands and looking around worriedly while England fidgeted with the door. England finally slid his hotel card out. He grabbed America's arm and threw him inside, closing the door with a harsh slam behind them.

England treated America very abusively. And America didn't seem to like it, although he wouldn't say. I knew it was not really my place to try and break them up, but I knew this relationship was not good for America. I sighed and rubbed my head, looking around for another place to hide. I wanted to hear what they were saying, but I didn't want England or America to open up the door and see me standing there. I glanced around the hall, trying to find a loophole. Then my eyes locked in on something.

A window.

* * *

><p>If you ever watch spy movies, you have probably seen those moments where the spy must roam out onto the window ledge of a building, scooting around and trying not to be seen.<p>

That was me.

I knew I was not that far off the ground, but I am still old. I don't think I could handle the fall of about ten or so feet. I was trying to get to the window of the hotel to peer in. I had already accepted the fact that what I was doing was creepy, but not wrong. It was for America's greater good. That's what I told myself as I hoisted myself up and looked in at the tiny window belonging to America and England's hotel room.

England was leaning back on the small bed the two shared and watching tv. America was sitting as far away from England as possible, but staring at him as if he expected something. He inched his way toward England, and slowly lifted an arm to put around him. England whipped his head around and shouted something at America, which made America recoil in fear. He looked as if he were apologizing to England, and sat away as far as he could again. He looked around for a few minutes, until his face lit up and he reached down into the suitcase next to him on the floor. He pulled out a little bag that looked like it was from a souvenir shop. America smiled, his big, beautiful smile, and pulled out a little wad of paper from the bag. He peered over his shoulder to make sure England wasn't looking. And England was not looking, because England could care less. I scowled slightly at this. America was trying his hardest to be sweet and loving, and England rebuffed him with every chance he got.

America slowly peeled the paper away to reveal a necklace. I knew exactly what it was of, too. The necklace was sliver, from what I could see, and had the shape of an umbrella. I squinted, gripping the ledge, and pressed my face to the glass. The charm was definitely the Japanese charm "sharing an umbrella". I've showed it to Italy once. It's a love charm where you put the name of your lover on one side, and yours on the other. I didn't know they made necklaces of them.

America smiled shyly and turned to England. England huffed and paused the tv, giving America a 'what do you want' sort of look. America grinned and presented the necklace, dangling it in England's face. He was talking very fast, obviously excited about the gift. England didn't look very pleased with it, and turned his attention back toward the tv, unpausing his program. America looked confused and slightly sad, and placed the necklace on the bed. He said something to England, and England grabbed the charm. Without even taking his eyes off the tv, he threw it across the room.

America crawled underneath the covers, turning his face toward the window. Luckily, it was getting dark, and he couldn't see me.

But I could see the tears on his face quite clearly.

**Wow, England is a dick! And in case you are curious, I do not make America call England 'Iggy' or 'Artie' because, in my opinion, it just looks...very weebish. I doubt America would actually say that, and it gets on my nerves every time I see it. BUT that is just me, and I know a lot of people really enjoy it for some reason. (Excessive use of their human names gets on my nerves too; since they never use it in canon, they probably wouldn't in a fic.) Also, Japan's ringtone is the Pokemon ringtone because mine is. In case you are wondering where Japan's "Mr." and "-san"'s are that I usually include (because it's realistic that he would use them), they are not there because it is from his perspective, and that would get real fucking annoying real fast.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: If you get upset over abuse for whatever reason, don't read this fic. Also, I do not think England hates America in canon. USUK is my favorite pairing. Just throwing that out there.**

Pochi started barking at me.

I sighed and sat up, pausing my television show. (It was quite a weird game show, and although they are odd, I must admit that I have an affinity for them.) Pochi needed to be fed. Or taken outside. Though I really was not up for a walk after I spied on America and England. My old bones couldn't take gripping that ledge for as long as I did, and my joints started to crack as I stood up to go into the kitchen.

I still was not sure how to go about the issue at hand. My fears had been confirmed: England is a terrible person, especially to America. Nobody else was doing much about it because nobody seemed to care. But I had to care. I couldn't deny the fact that I had overwhelming feelings for America. I didn't want to see him with an abusive partner...or anyone who wasn't me, for that matter. If America is happy, then I am happy. England certainly does not make him elated, but I think I could, if given the opportunity. I don't think a lot of people would treat America the way he deserves to be treated, because nobody bothers to look deeper when conversing with him.

"Pochi...you like America, right?" I said as I picked up his bowl and started to pour his food. Pochi merely blinked at me and offered a small 'yip' sound, then started to wag his tail at the prospect of food. I presumed Pochi likes America, because America loves playing with him. Whenever he visits, he throws toys for Pochi and enjoys keeping him in his arms for the duration of his visit. Ah, how I wished he'd hold me more often than he does, instead of my dog. But there's an endearing quality about America whenever he speaks to my dog like it is a child, or when he wrestles toys from his mouth. It's very adorable, and I love watching him become such a dork.

Speaking of Pochi, he was pawing at my ankles. I set his food dish down and walked back into the living room. I was about to grab the remote, but I realized I was not in the mood for wacky game shows. Thinking about America really made me want him by my side. I walked over to my shelf of movies, shuffling through various titles. I needed to find the scariest horror movie possible. The scarier the movie, the more America would cling to me. I would pretend not to care, but it really takes all I have not to wrap my arms around him in return when he does that.

Once I found a movie that looked good enough, I dialed America's number and waited patiently for him to pick up. We had another meeting the next day for the G8 members, but it was in the afternoon. This time it was being held in my country. America usually stayed at my house whenever the meetings were in my country, and vise versa. But ever since he started dating England, he stayed at hotels more often. It seemed as if England didn't want America and I in the same room together. I wasn't sure if America was already here or if he was still flying over, but he would eventually visit me regardless.

All of the sudden, I heard a whispered, "Hello?"

"America! I was wondering if you would like to come over and watch a movie with me."

I heard some muffled static, followed by yelling in the background. What sounded like something being slammed against a wall, perhaps a lamp, was heard shortly after. America made a slight choking noise.

"Hold on, Japan." He sounded as if he was about to cry. His moved away from the phone as he yelled at someone. "Just a sales call! I'm trying to be polite...please don't do that. Wait, stop. Please. Put that down...I...yes sir. Hold on, let me hang up. Okay?"

I was scared America did hang up on me, until I heard him whisper quietly in a very hurried tone, "I'll be there at eight."

Click.

I didn't ever see America as the type of person to submit to violence, especially England. He used to stand up to him. He even started a whole war in order to get away from him. So why was he back with him now, and why did he let England control him? America is the most powerful nation in the world...how could he let someone treat him like that all of the sudden?

Whatever the reason was, it wasn't good enough for me. America needed to escape England's control again. And I was going to help him.

* * *

><p>It was actually past eight o'clock when I heard a knock on my door. I hurried to answer it, Pochi tagging along behind me. When I opened the door, America was looking feebly down at his feet, with England standing behind him.<p>

"Hello, Japan." England gave a slight bow to me, and I bowed back quicker than I had meant to. England shot a glare at America, who was still shifting his feet nervously and looking down. England continued to stare at him.

"I will pick him up at eleven. I'm sorry you feel obligated to spend time with him." England pushed America inside and shut the door calmly. America finally looked up at me, a small smile on his face.

"You wanted to watch a movie?"

It was slightly awkward. I decided to get some blankets for America, since he loves to hold onto them when scared, but we ended up draping them over our laps instead, since it was still chilly in Japan. Whenever something scary happened, America refused to grab me like he normally would. Instead, he would cling to the blankets for dear life, obviously wanting something more to comfort him. The movie itself really wasn't that scary, but America is scared of anything. He pretends to be this big, strong guy, but inside he he still just a kid. Maybe that's why he's scared of England.

After the movie ended, America and I sat on the couch, not looking at one another. Finally, after a long silence, America spoke.

"I'm just going to, uh, ask you something. Did you hear...you know...everything? When you called me?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes...may I ask what those noises were?"

America gave a disheartened smile and sighed. "I was afraid you did. Well, I guess you deserve to know that it was because England was upset with me. I mean, I deserved it. After everything I have done to him...he should be able to hurt me."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Just because America had hurt England in the past does not mean England had the right to hurt him now. Besides, America was not entirely in the wrong, from what I could remember.

"America...didn't you gain your independence because England was too harsh on you? And if memory serves me correctly, he pointed a gun in your face. That's what you told everyone."

America winced. "Yeah, but I broke his heart by leaving him. So now I'm with him again. And I can't possibly leave him. I was a horrible person to the man who cared so much about me...I'm not going to do that to him this time. He didn't shoot me, either. He gave me a second chance. So if he wants to get angry with me, that's fine."

America laughed and pulled the blanket closer to him. "Besides, I kinda fuck everything up for everyone in the world. I don't think I've ever done a good thing in my whole life. England is just treating me the way everyone should, but they won't because they fear how strong I am. I know what you all say about me behind my back. I can't say I blame any of you, heh. Especially you."

America came across as one of the most conceited countries in the world. But it was then that I realized he only acted that way to cover up how badly he felt about himself. When visiting the United States, I saw many Americans that hated Americans. Americans take the "only in America" jokes that are thrown at them because they feel like they deserve to be made fun of, and no one else does. It hurt me to see him degrading himself the way he did.

"America, how could you feel that way about yourself? You're-"

I found myself choking on my own words. I wasn't sure if I could tell America how I felt about him. I wanted to tell him how England only uses him for a good time, not because he still feels bad about America's previous and justified rebellion. I wanted to tell him that he's not a bad person, and that he will never be perfect. I wanted to tell him how much I cared about him.

I couldn't find the right words, so I took America's hand in mine. He looked at me quizzically, probably wondering what I was going to say. I took a deep breath and continued.

"You don't realize who you are. You're a young man, and everyone you expects to solve everything for them. And when you can't, they get angry. You're not going to make everyone happy. Nobody in the world will ever have true happiness. There will always be hatred, and you don't have to place it only upon yourself to solve it. You are allowed to be selfish sometimes. People have to care about themselves, too. And it makes me...sad. Very sad. It makes me sad whenever I see you thinking that because you are not perfect, you are not worthy of kindness. America, treat yourself right. Tell yourself what you deserve. Do you deserve to be treated badly? Do you really?"

I could feel my voice cracking on those past few words. I don't think I had ever expressed how I truly felt about anything to anyone. America was equally surprised as he stared at me, wide-eyed and stuttering. Then, all of the sudden, he started to cry. His shoulders were shaking as he sobbed heavily, sniffling and whimpering. He kept mumering something about heroes not crying. I wrapped my arms around him and sighed. It was the first time I had ever truly hugged someone. America immediately fell into the embrace and grabbed at my shirt, crying onto my shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Japan. I'm sorry."

I rubbed my hand down his back. "Shh, America. It's alright. You can cry if you need to, okay? You are allowed to cry. And America?"

He sat back and pulled off his glasses, wiping away his tears on his sleeve.

"You don't have to apologize for what you've done to me in the past anymore. I forgive you. And if I can forgive you for something you did seventy years ago, England should forgive you for wanting to be your own person two-hundred years ago."

America sniffled and gave out a short, choked laugh. "I-I can't just t-tell him something like that. He cares about m-me." His voice was hitching on nearly every word he spoke.

I could feel my eyebrows knit together. "America...England does not...care about you. He only acts like he cares because he sees you as a good time. He wants you for sex, and tries to guilt trip you into staying with him because of what you did in the past. I'm sorry, but he doesn't care. He has said it any times when you were not around."

I can safely say that I have never seen someone look so sad in my life. I immediately felt awful for telling him the truth, but someone had to. France and I were debating if we should for a long time, but now seemed like it was as good a time as any. America looked heartbroken at my words, and tears started to form in his eyes again.

"Nobody really cares about me, do they?"

I didn't think. I didn't even stop to wonder if it was a good idea. I knew that I had to prove to America that someone truly cared about him, but mere promises alone were not going to show him much. So I leaned into America, pulling his face to mine as quickly as I possibly could, and kissed him. My very first kiss.

I pulled away and stared into his beautiful, blue eyes. America looked more confused than shocked, and his face was slightly flushed.

"I do."

* * *

><p>England came to pick up America at eleven o'clock sharp. When I answered the door, he gave me a polite nod and made small talk about how the weather was in England and such while America was in the bathroom. The more he talked, the more I could smell a hint of alcohol. I couldn't believe I had went out of my way to become friends with him at one time. But then again, people change a lot, especially when you've lived as long as some of us have. I wasn't exactly sure of how old America was. He didn't become his own country until about two-hundred years ago, but he was a teenager when that happened. How long had he exisisted prior to his independence? I had never put much thought into how old America really was.<p>

I wasn't aware that America was standing behind me until England gestured past my shoulder. "Come on, America. Let's go. I can't believe it took you so long to get ready to leave, but your fat arse probably has trouble walking, hm?" England let out a little laugh, as if this joke was simply harmless teasing.

"England has obesity problems, too."

Both England and I stared at America, shocked that he had said something to England. It felt like old times, when the two would bicker and poke at one another. But England took it differently than he would have before. His eyes grew cold and distant, and he grabbed America by the arm, tightening his grip until America's face contorted in pain.

"America, say that again." England smiled sweetly, but it made me sick to my stomach. I felt so awkward standing there in the midst of what was becoming a fight. America refused to say anything, however, and simply shifted his gaze to the floor.

England's smile dropped. "That's what I thought. Come on." He yanked America by the arm and pulled him out the door, slamming it in my face. England may say he's a gentleman, but he certainly doesn't act like it. I know about his past, too, and I don't think he's ever been too nice of a person.

I pulled back my curtains and peered out. England was pulling America to his car, shoving him around and pulling on his arms in a way that looked like he was trying to knock him down. America said nothing as he just took the treatment, trying to make his way to the car. England then started screaming, and was so loud that I could hear parts of what he was saying.

"...fucking funny? Really? Just shut the fuck up. Nobody wants to hear you."

America's mouth moved, obviously responding, and England was seething with rage. I watched in horror as he grabbed America by the back of his head and slammed it onto the hood of the car. America stumbled and England grabbed him by his hair, pulling his face to his own. He mumbled something and shoved America into the passenger seat. I watched as they drove away, sickened by what I had seen. America needed to leave England, but he felt that he couldn't do it again. He felt like nobody else could ever love him, and this was the best he could get. After I had kissed him and basically showed America that I was in love with him, he still couldn't believe that someone actually liked him. America could not do this on his own. He needed help, but he didn't think anyone was willing to.

I was determined to show him that I would help.

**If you don't know what America did to Japan seventy years ago, you need to brush up on your history, son. And I tried to express how most victims feel in an abusive relationship. A lot of the people I have seen in one believe the abuser loves them, and that they deserve whatever punishments they get because the abuser lies to them. Because of this, a lot of them are scared to tell people and get help. Please, if you know anyone in a relationship like this (or if you are in one), call your local domestic abuse hotline. And keep in mind it is not always a man being the abuser. Look for all the signs from everyone. Because you never know. Also, if you are thinking of doing a fic about sensitive issues, PLEASE go about it very carefully. "Kawaii" Nazi Germany is not a good idea.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey y'all, I know you like comedy, and I'm sorry. To be honest, I suck at drama. I'm not even sure why I'm writing this. People have said they want to see more comedy from me, so tell me if you don't have much interest in this type of writing from me, and would like to see more comedy. I will discontinue if people hate it. I will defs do a comedy next, though, so tell me what kind you want! All my fics (except this one) are more or less requests.**

"Have you tried speaking to England about it?"

I reached over the table and poured another cup of tea for France. I had invited him over right before the meeting, since he seemed to be the only G8 member I could discuss this with. Russia was temporarily disbanded, so he wasn't coming. China was not in the G8, and it's not like he would care much about this anyway. Italy and Germany probably wouldn't know what to do, because they hadn't much knowledge about the situation. So France was the only ally I had about all of this. He cared about America, and had known both he and England for several years. I figured he was best for handling the situation.

I shook my head. "No. To best honest, he respects me. I don't want to say anything to him because of that."

France laughed. "So you'd rather I say something, because he already hates me?"

I winced. He had basically found me out. "Yes, more or less. I guess it's because you can tell him the hard truth, and I cannot."

France hummed as he sipped his tea. Finally, he nodded and said, "I will see what I can do. We have to leave for the meeting in an hour, yes? Let's discuss what I should say to him. We need to get this take care of as quickly as possible, so that America does not get hurt even more."

I smiled, happy to know that this was all going to be taken care of. Or so I thought.

* * *

><p>As soon as France and I entered the meeting room, I felt my stomach knot up. I could tell something bad was going to happen, even though we had a plan. England could be quite unpredictable with his actions. My seat for the meeting was also next to America's, so that made me feel even more nervous. England seemed to always be placed by France, even though that was a bad idea with all the bickering they did. I wasn't sure how this meeting was going to go with all the awkward tension lately.<p>

As I went to sit down, I noticed America and England entering the room. America looked very distant, as if he were tired or in a trance. England looked as irritated as ever, perhaps due to his overly-large eyebrows that were always turned down. America came over and sat down next to me, fidgeting with his tie. France whispered my name from across the large table, and winked at me to give me assurance that everything was going to be fine. I guess I had looked anxious, even though I was trying my hardest not to. I stole another glance at America. His face looked different. It was not his expression that was off, but rather something about his actual features. I had actually looked at his facial structure a lot. He had high and prominent cheekbones, with a strong jawline and very tanned, caramel-colored skin. His eyes were quite small, but in a way that made you melt whenever he smiled. They did this thing where they crinkled at the edges whenever he laughed, and it looked as if his eyes were smiling with the rest of him. His teeth were white and perfectly straight, the typical "American smile". However, I didn't really see his joyful eyes or his flashy smile anymore. His smiles were small and shy, and his eyes didn't light up with their usual vigor. He looked dull and sad, as if all his happiness had been drained from him. Still, what was off about him was not quite that. The texture of his skin looked different from the way it usually did. It looked absolutely flawless, as was the norm, but it was almost...too flawless. And slightly less caramel-colored, leaning more on a yellowish-orange. I tried my hardest not to look like I was staring as I compared his neck with his jawline. They were two different colors altogether.

America noticed me watching him, because he cleared his throat and darted his eyes in my direction. I gave a nervous grin, trying to cover up my mistake, and turned my attention to my various folders in front of me. I wasn't sure how to speak to America after I had kissed him. He didn't seem angry nor happy that I did, but rather shocked that I would. We didn't have time to discuss it much, since England showed up shortly after. Still, I wanted to know how he felt about me. Not the fact that I liked him or that I cared about him (though I wanted to know more about what he thought of that as well), but rather how he felt about me. Japan. His best friend. He always told me he appreciated me being there for him, but did he really believe I was being his friend just so I could take advantage of him like everyone else?

The meeting was starting. England had taken his place next to France, and Germany was writing on the chalkboard. America had placed his face in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. I wondered if he had gotten any sleep at all. Italy was simply humming quietly to himself, and a boy who looked an awful lot like America was sitting next to him. I do believe his name was Canada, and that he was America's brother by adoption, since they were both colonies of England. America didn't talk about him too much, but it sounded like he lived in America's shadow. Which was quite ironic geographically, because Canada was above America, not the other way around.

There were a lot less people in the G8 than I had thought. America and myself, Canada, Italy, and Germany, then France and England. It was like World War 2 all over again, except Canada was not in it, and Russia and China were involved with the Allies. Ah, World War 2...that's when America used to be quite cocky. He was pretty cocky up until he dated England, actually. I much prefered the loud, obnoxious America over this new one. The new America looked like he was about to nod off, until Germany turned around and shouted that the meeting had begun. America sat up and grabbed his papers, trying to look professional. The poor boy was so sleep deprived.

However, as soon as he set his papers down, I noticed something. On the corner of the paper, there were orange finger prints. I remembered seeing things like this before on papers that women had given to me. America touched his face, then his papers…

Foundation. America had foundation on his face. That's why his complexion looked so weird to me. But what did he want to cover up?

I was determined to find out.

* * *

><p>For the third time in a week, I played spy to America and England. As soon as the meeting let out, England grabbed America and pulled him out the door, telling him that they were going to go to the bathroom. France was soon beside me, nodding in the direction they left. We peeked out the door and watched them go into the bathroom that was right outside the meeting room.<p>

As we advanced upon the door, slowly but carefully, we could hear England yelling. France rolled his eyes.

"How could you be so careless? I told you not to touch your face. Do you want people to see it? I hope you know how gross it looks. People will think you are gross, America. Do you want that?"

France's eyebrows knitted together in concentration. I leaned over and whispered to him, "America had foundation on."

"No, England. I'm sorry for touching it."

"Well, hold still. Let me put some more on. We can't let people see any more of your fucking mistakes. Honestly, you piss me off to no end. Oh, shut the fuck up. Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about."

France swallowed the lump in his throat and looked at me, a painful expression on his face. I don't think he knew how bad it really was.

"You're the strongest country in the world and you're going to cry like a little bitch. Honestly, you're reminding me of when you were a child. Stop crying already."

"I-I-"

"You what? Can you speak? Use your words."

I could only hear sobbing coming from the bathroom. It was silent for a minute, and then a loud slap was heard.

"Are you going to cry now? I told you I'd give you something to cry about. Now you can cry. Go ahead, cry. Fucking 'hero'. Hero my arse. Shut the fuck up and let me put this stuff on you."

I thought about when America was crying back at my house, telling me that heroes don't cry.

France suddenly walked forward and into the bathroom. I tried to grab him, but it was too late.

"England, that's enough. Don't hurt America."

I didn't want to sit outside and listen, so I decided to act like I was walking into the bathroom by accident, like I really had to go and all of them just happened to be there.

England was holding a bottle in one hand, his other hand holding America by the neck. America's face was turned away, but a red, hand-shaped mark was starting to appear on his cheek. England looked bewildered that we had both entered, but suddenly smirked.

"I wasn't hurting him. We were just role-playing. Japan, France, you two should know about being kinky, of all people. America likes it, don't you?"

America nodded slowly, his face still turned away from us.

"See? He likes it. We were just joking. Now if you two would kindly leave us-"

"I am not leaving him with you. America, come here." France held out his hands tried to coax America away, eyeing England the whole time.

England smiled, and it looked almost authentic. "France, he chose me back then and he'll choose me over you now. No amount of coaxing him will make him go with you."

France sighed. "Fine, then. America, go with Japan."

America immediately looked at me, and I looked back at him. We stared for a moment before I decided to cut the silence by extending a hand toward him. America looked at it, then at France. Then, without any warning, ran over to me and wrapped his arms around me, shaking. France stepped in front of England, who was stepping towards me with a scowl on his face. It all happened so fast, and I couldn't keep up. Honestly, I was feeling pretty dizzy. I knew I had to get America away from England, however, so backed away from the scene and headed toward the door, America still clutching me.

"America! Get your arse back here right now-let go of me! France!"

I pulled America out of the bathroom by the hand. I didn't stop. I feared that if we stopped, England would catch us. I pulled him down the hallway, down the stairs, into the parking lot, and I didn't look back. I only looked at America when we were both safely on the sidewalk outside, still walking down the street to get to my house. America was whimpering, still traumatized over the events in the past few minutes. I was eternally grateful to France for what he did. I decided to call him later, but for now I needed to get America to safety. It was an awkward walk home, until America decided to speak up.

"I'm sorry for being such a loser."

He sniffed and took off his glasses, cleaning them on his suit. For such a strong person, he was surprisingly sensitive inside. I guess you never really know anyone.

"America, you're not a loser-"

"Yes, I am! I'm supposed to be a hero. But I just mess everything up. I try hard, Japan, I really do." He voice was cracking and his face was covered in tears. The poor boy was hated by everyone his whole life. And when people didn't hate him, he was left alone. Now here he was, a teenager that thought he had to be a superhero for everyone to make up for it, when he had so many problems of his own.

I stopped and took his hands in mine. "I know you do, America. I told you, I care about you. I love you. And I'm sorry that you can't see that. I'm going to make sure you get the love you deserve."

**Poor America. I'm sorry he's the lightning rod for being hated and picked on in all of my stories. (Except Amerifryingpan, where he's just stupid.) And I'd hate to burst your bubble, but it really is likely that Canada and America are not twins, and are not even blood brothers. They have different human last names unlike other sibling pairs in Hetalia, and England probably called them brothers because both of them were his colonies. I don't think they've ever referred to each other as brothers, but rather neighbors. They look alike because you couldn't have the joke of "everyone mistakes Canada for America" otherwise. SORRY TO DESTROY YOUR TWIN FANTASY. So they won't be related by blood in this fic, and most certainly are not twins.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Just a little personal note here. If you ever feel offended, in any way, about how your country is portrayed in my fics, I am sorry. I try my hardest to make sure nobody is offended. I'm an American, so I know how it feels to have hatred towards your country. Any depictions in my fics are probably not what I actually think of the country. (i.e. England in this one) I promise I think nothing but good things about most of the countries of the world, and I defend various countries from scrutinizing Americans on a daily basis. Also, I will not make France a rapist. That's actually pretty fucking offensive. Moving on.**

America refused to tell me how he achieved such a nasty bruise on his face. After I had wiped off the foundation with a cool rag, he winced at my reaction.

"It's fine," he told me. "It's nothing."

It obviously was not nothing, and it certainly wasn't fine. I tried to tell him this, but he rebuffed me, and continued saying the same things. I followed him down the hall, trying to get him to tell me. I needed to know how England caused this, and it was bothering me that America wouldn't say.

"America, I know England did it. I can clearly see it, so it's not nothing. Please, won't you trust me?"

I grabbed America by the shoulder and turned him around to face me. His eyes were glazed over, on the verge of tears.

"I-I'm not…allowed to say...I-I…"

He was still scared of England and what he might do if he told me. I don't think America fully understood that he was safe now. His situation was finally seen by others, and he was taken out of it. Granted, we were countries, so we would have to come into contact with one another again at some point. But that has happened a lot throughout history. Countries hate each other, countries abuse each other, countries nearly die. And sometimes, they become friends again. All of this is because of how violent/compassionate human beings are.

But sometimes, we had our own free will. The kind that had nothing to do with our actual countries. And that's what happened between England and America. I had checked their recent news, their international relationships, anything that could explain why England was treating America this way. But there was nothing. England abused America as England the man, not England the country.

"America, you can tell me. It's okay. You're safe now. England will not hurt you if you tell me how."

America sniffled. He was trying his hardest not to cry again. America never liked to be seen as weak. "I...I…" His voice became a whisper, and he murmured, "He hit me." He was biting his lip, trying so hard not to start crying.

I was much shorter than America, but I wrapped my arms around his waist and pulled him close to me. I don't know why America's touch was different. I hated having people touch me, really, and I hated hugging others. But with America...all I wanted was to have him as close to me as possible.

We stood in silence. America eventually, slowly, returned the hug. He melted into it, placing his hands near my lower back and pulling me closer into him.

"Thank you, Japan." He didn't sound like he was going to cry anymore. If all it took was a small sign of affection to calm his nerves, how much love did he usually receive? Was he not used to people being nice to him?

I pulled back ever so slightly so he could look down and see that I was smiling. I took him by the hand, and led him into the kitchen.

"You're welcome. Would you like anything to eat? It has been a long day."

I led him over to my small table, and motioned for him to sit. America looked very confused at how short the tables were in Japan. I suppose he was used to eating on couches, or on higher furniture. It seemed he could never get used to how low tables could be in my country, no matter how many times he came to visit.

I wandered into the kitchen, and pulled my cooking apron down from its hook. I knew America liked burgers, but I wasn't sure if I could make that. He did like meat, though, so maybe beef stew, or something like that. I looked back at America.

"Would you like beef stew? I can make nikujaga if you'd like." I winced, remembering that was originally an English dish. My boss had asked me to make something he had in England once, and eventually that dish became nikujaga. But it was one of the dishes I could make that I was sure America would like.

America shook his head, looking confused. "I can't eat yet. It's not lunchtime."

I was pretty sure it was lunchtime. It had been about four hours since the meeting, and I knew America was hungry. Maybe we had cultural differences on what "lunchtime" was.

"America, when is lunch in your country? At what time?"

America thought for a second. "Usually around twelve or so."

I looked over at the clock. It was 2:30. Way past lunch for both of us.

"So you should eat. It is two-thirty, after all."

America glanced down at his stomach. He looked terribly uncomfortable. "No, that's okay. I eat around six or so."

I raised an eyebrow. "For lunch?"

America shifted uncomfortably. "No, for my food. For like, the day. Um, yeah."

It took me a second to process what he said. "You only eat once a day?"

America grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. Any more and I'd gain a lot of weight, right?"

I laughed. "No. You need to eat three meals a day, with snacks between meals. Where did you hear that?"

I was greeted with total silence.

I looked at America. He was looking down, hiding his face from sight. I walked over to him, still tying my apron on. "America?" He still looked down, but finally answered.

"England told me. He said I could only eat a salad once, at dinner. Because if I ate anything else, I'd become obese."

There was another long silence between us. England had once again lied to him. It seemed that no matter what, England had an influence in his everyday life. He even controlled what he ate and when he ate.

I was determined to break this.

After a few moments, I sighed. "No, America. You're allowed to eat. I'm going to make you some nikujaga, okay?" I lifted his chin up to meet my gaze. The bruise on America's face was starting to fade. "You are a beautiful person. You are so very handsome, and eating like a regular person will not make you any less handsome than you already are."

I let my hand drop, and walked back into the kitchen. America didn't say anything to me, and I suppose he didn't really need to. I started to pull out various pots and pans, and mixed some ingredients and spices. America really loved his food to be seasoned, so I had to make sure this meal was something he would enjoy. Suddenly, America spoke.

"Hey, that apron...looks really cute on you."

Cute?! I felt my face flush and whirled around to face America. He was averting his eyes, but blushing ever so slightly. I couldn't believe that the man I had sought after for many years just called me...cute.

"T-thank you very much." I turned my attention back towards the stove, which was getting as hot as my face. What the hell? Had America...was he...flirting with me? Or was he just being nice? This was so confusing for someone like me, who could usually read the atmosphere very well. America had said it so suddenly. I didn't really know how to react. I suppose this is how he felt when I had kissed him. America knew I liked him, but...did he like me?

I cooked in total silence. It was very awkward for me, and I'd imagine it was uncomfortable for America as well. But neither of us knew what to say. When the two dishes were done, I sat the plates in front of America and I. He nodded, thanking me, and we ate quietly. I asked if he would like the tv on, and he told me no. Finally, he started to say something.

"Japan, listen. I really-"

He didn't get to finish, however, because my phone started ringing.

I stood up and asked for America to excuse me, and he looked slightly embarrassed after being cut off from what he was going to say. I went down the hall and looked down at my phone, which had caller ID. It was France.

I picked it up almost immediately. "H-hello?"

France's voice sounded tired, and slightly bitter. "Bonjour, Japan. If you cannot tell, I am slightly pissed off. But nevermind that, l have something I need to show you. Are you at a computer?"

"No, but I can get to one." I made my way into my private office, the one I used for sorting paperwork and holding meetings with my bosses.

"Well, when you get on, check your email. You must read something. They're texts that England sent America. Since you're with him and taking care of him, you need to see them. To, ah, better understand what has been going on behind the curtains, if you will."

I booted up my computer. "How did you get England's texts? What happened after we left?"

France gave a long sigh. "I talked to England. He was pretty angry, as you can imagine. He was screaming at me, cursing at me, and kept trying to get through the door. I wouldn't let him leave until he spoke with me. He refused, and started to get out his phone to call America. So I, uh...snatched it from him. I took his phone out of his hands. I don't really know he's planning to do to us now. I ran past everyone leaving the meeting in the hall, and told them they had to stop England at all costs, because I could hear him behind me. I think I heard him struggling with Germany, but either way, he didn't catch me. I took screenshots of some texts that he sent."

While France was speaking, I had pulled up my email. I clicked on the one from France, and saw a series of pictures that looked like they were shots from an iPhone.

"I have them up now. Hold on, I'll read them."

"Okay. I'll wait."

The first one was from a few months ago, as the date indicated. I scrolled down, reading the messages carefully.

_u know what today is?_

_Yes. The day you broke my heart and left me?_

_its my bday_

_Exactly._

_im sorry_

_You should have said that a long time ago._

I swallowed loudly, and France must have heard me. "Yeah, but the first one is not the worst. Keep reading."

_Don't forget, you have hurt a lot of people. I'm probably the only one who forgives you._

_yeah i know. thank you_

_And for fuck's sake, work on your grammar, please._

_Okay. How is this?_

_Better._

More texts from Tuesday, December 18th.

_It really hurts from last night._

_Do you think I give a fuck?_

_I read somewhere that it was supposed to feel good. You were supposed to use something called 'lubricant'._

_Don't fucking tell me what I can and cannot do, America._

A stream of texts from England continued.

_Are you really going to be unappreciative? Nobody else would ever have sex with you._

_Be grateful that you got that._

_And no, you're not supposed to use lube. It feels better that way._

Finally, America answered.

_But it didn't feel good for me._

_I didn't say for you, idiot. It's not about you. You always do that, make everything about you._

_I know. I'm sorry._

Then, a series of texts from yesterday. I felt my heart hammering in my chest as I read them.

_England, help. When you hit me with the hammer yesterday, it bruised. It's still there._

_You're a country. It will heal._

_Yeah, but it isn't. Everyone is going to see it._

_Jesus. I'll come over and put some foundation on your face._

_Okay. I love you._

No reply.

I took in a deep, shaky breath. England had told America nobody could love him or forgive him. England didn't let America enjoy sex, and instead just used him. And, if I read correctly, had slammed a hammer onto his face, for whatever reason. That was the bruise that was currently on America's face...oh God.

"Japan? Did you read them?"

"Yes...I...I did."

"That's not the worst part, either. I looked through England's Internet search history. There should be another file attached. I took a screenshot of it, too."

I clicked the file and opened another picture. Suddenly, I was met with the worst possible three sentences I could imagine.

_how to fix broken arm_

_how to fix broken fingers_

_how to cover up a broken arm_

I started to cry. I was thinking about America, the sweet, naive person that he was, having his arm broken by someone as ruthless as England. He abused him all he wanted because America was a country, and would heal fast. Nobody would ever see the damage he had done to him. But I knew that America's mind would not heal. He was a teenage boy, who believed that nobody was really capable of loving him. That England's horrible treatment would be the best love he could find for himself.

I needed to show him that someone loved him. I loved America, I really loved him, and I would show him no matter what it took.

**I was listening to the Little Shop of Horrors soundtrack when I wrote this. Orin and Audrey is all I need to say. Also, I know you're wondering why Japan isn't using "-san", France isn't written in an accent, Japan's thoughts are in a suspiciously American wording, etc. Because things like "BONJOUR, EEZ HE DOING BETTEL?" is really fucking annoying to read. And "I needed to show America-san that someron roved him" would just be silly. Accents are irritating in fics. Just my opinion.**


End file.
